


The Nizam of Hyderabad, Chapter 6: Hero's Tower

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Series: The Nizam of Hyderabad [6]
Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Surprise</i> encounters massive hurricanos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nizam of Hyderabad, Chapter 6: Hero's Tower

For having a shipmate aboard whom all but Stephen believed to be a bona fide Jonah, _Surprise_ had been having the devil's own luck -- her voyage thus far was smooth and uneventful. She had easily made two hundred nautical miles per day, when they left the doldrums. The crew were in excellent health: Dr. Maturin's sickbay remained empty but for Jennings, week after week. Jennings himself was relatively stable, though he had lost most of his hair and many of his teeth. Admiral Aubrey thought it not inconceivable that the Doctor would end up curing the unfortunate man, for he had seen Stephen bring back men to full health that he thought looked far worse than Jennings did. Stephen told Jack it was impossible; the poor man would die, it was just a matter of time. Catastrophic organ failure would be the end of him. They could thank God Jennings had not gone mad. He was quiet and subdued virtually all the time, as cooperative a patient as Stephen had ever had, stoic in his suffering.

Still, as Stephen naturalised, Jack paced the quarterdeck waiting for their run of luck to end and finally, it did. Like most sailors, he was so wary of bad luck that he knew a thousand and one portents for it, one of which was things going too well. That alone could portend catastrophe at any moment, even without the presence of a Jonah. Early on Christmas Eve morning, the last full day they were to be in Tristan da Cuhna, on what was to be Stephen’s glorious seventh day of naturalising and eight days before Jack projected they would be putting into Simon’s Town, the bottom appeared to have sprung a leak on Jack’s barometer, the mercury falling so dramatically that he thought it must certainly be broken. He had never seen it so low in his entire lifetime. He dug out his second best and it had the very same reading. Neither was broken.   
  
Jack called Tom Pullings and the master, Mr. Evans, to come to the cabin and the three officers together checked the readings of all the instruments and their observations. The only conclusion was that a behemoth of a storm would be upon them far sooner than the sky would indicate. It was hurricano season, but it was very unusual for such a storm to be brewing so far off the west coast of the Cape. No, by no means impossible, far from it, but still very unusual and Jack frowned looking out to the west, then the south and the east. There was nothing but sea before him and not a cloud in the sky. It was another freakishly clear day in Tristan and warmer than he had ever remembered it being.  
  
He broke the bad news to Stephen, who took it better than he had hoped, thrilled with the many hundreds of specimens he had managed to gather. They needed to make sail to try to make it to a protected anchorage. Tristan da Cunha itself was out of the question -- too small, too much kelp to anchor well with any sort of serious swell and too great a chance of _Surprise_ foundering upon her rocks with the cyclonic winds that were typical of hurricanos. They would crack on like smoke and oakum with the hope of making the Cape and beating the tempest that would be bearing down upon them before he knew it. There was no question of beating up to avoid the oncoming storm. They would run out of time.  
  
Jack spread all the canvas he might, all that was prudent until the time that virtually everything would have to be taken in, but privately, he thought that there was no way in the world they would be anywhere near a protected anchorage when she hit and they were not.  
  
Jack only remembered one storm that was the equal of this monster and it was so long ago he only vaguely remembered the degree to which his heart had been in his mouth back in his earliest days at sea. In some moments, he felt he knew _Surprise_ better than any person or any animal of which he had ever made the acquaintance. In some ways, he felt he knew her better than his own person. He knew every creak in her timbers, knew the brittle spots in her yards. He had confidence in her and in her people, every single one of whom was a thoroughgoing seaman in his estimation. They did not disappoint him in the least.  
  
They were worked miserably hard and there were the predictable number of injuries and for the first time, he regretted not pressing Stephen harder about the issue of choosing not to take a mate along nor an experienced loblolly boy. Yet not until the dawn of the end of time would he ever imagine himself presuming to question Stephen's judgement in anything pertaining to the sick bay. Two days in, he made it down to the orlop during a brief lull and looked over the men lying around, saw that Killick and his mate were, for the moment, assisting Stephen in setting a dislocation along with two of the injured man's messmates and Jack waited for Stephen to be done. Stephen patted the unfortunate reefer, Peters and spoke gently in his ear as the man collapsed, his shoulder now more or less mended and Stephen's four assistants stepped away, perspiring and looking in need of a stiff tot themselves, unnerved by their poor shipmate's protracted involuntary screams. As soon as Stephen rose and nodded to them, Peters’ messmates made their obedience and fled. Stephen came out of the sick berth.  
  
"So, Doctor, how bad is the butcher’s bill?" Jack said.  
  
"We have gotten off very lightly so far. The usual assorted contusions and lacerations, trivial, all. Three dislocations, four simple fractures and one serious compound fracture that I cannot answer for now, I fear. Rowens, that is. He may keep the leg with the blessing. Thank God it was not the femur; he would be a dead man."  
  
"And you, Stephen? When did you last eat or sleep?" Stephen looked Jack over. His hair streamed behind him but his eyes were bright and his face pink.  
  
"More recently than you, I daresay. I thank you, Jack, for all the fair warning; everything was stowed away in good time and I have my salubrious coca quid and more when I need it." Stephen said, patting the bag around his neck. "How much longer will this last?"  
  
"The calm or the storm?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"To be entirely candid, I am afraid this lull will be ending any moment. As for the storm, I must go take the readings. Killick there, is the coffee put on?"  
  
"I'm coming ain't I? Can I be in two places at once?" Killick said tartly, gesturing to Smythe to follow him.  
  
"I thank you, Killick." Stephen said. "It was most kind of you. Mr. Smythe, I am most grateful." They made their obedience and Jack looked on amused as they shuffled off.  
  
"Are you pinching my steward, Doctor?"  
  
"Consideration was given. That and Jenning's complete torpor, lashed tightly into the hammock so none need deal with him bought me some assistance."  
  
"Shall I send you down some coffee or shall you come up?"  
  
"I must check on poor Adam and then I shall be up." Stephen said, wiping his hands on his bloody apron.  
  
Stephen was not up, however, for the lull ended as he was speaking to Mr. Adam, who looked positively bilious and they were both thrown across Mr. Adam's cabin. Gazing at him, Stephen admired the man's stoicism. He clearly was absolutely terrified but he did not let on nor complain in any manner. He had smiled wanly when Stephen had come in. Their relations were marked by a formal cordiality, if not an outright stiffness and Mr. Adam had been most happy to go ashore at Tristan with Stephen and to feel the solid ground beneath his feet. He was very conscious of having offended Dr. Maturin but helpless to make any amend to him aside from being as inconspicuous and inoffensive as possible, with general expressions of good will whenever the opportunity presented itself.  
  
"Have you no trepidation, no anxiety for the ship at all, Doctor?" Adam asked him finally, as he and Stephen were again thrown against his trunks.  
  
"None at all. The Admiral has her in hand, as he always does and the people are all old seadogs as well. The storm shall blow itself out in time. This natural purge is, I assure you, Mr.Adam, over all, most salubrious to the humours."  
  
The storm blew itself out after five days. On the sixth day, they were assessing how _Surprise_ had come through.  Jack was pleased. He took the readings and adjudged their position. They had been blown over 2000 nautical miles and were two hundred miles past Cape Town. It was no tragedy, not even a major inconvenience, but they would not be putting into Cape Town and leaving Jennings there after all. Madagascar would be their next stop, for Stephen was desirous of collecting as many types of lemurs and other flora and fauna of Madagascar as he might.  He waxed rhapsodic to Jack about the immense variety of lemurs and their anatomical peculiarities, their singularity and the singularity of Madagascar.  Jack was not entirely certain what a lemur was, but now was loathe to betray that fact to Stephen for fear that it would appear that he had not been attending. As near as he could make out, it was something fur-covered and tree-climbing and he hoped it would not be given to gnawing through the rigging or biting.  
  
As they bore down, closing in on Madagascar, ten days later, Jack was taking his readings and frowned. There was no question. The barometer was dropping again precipitously. He called Tom and the master and they agreed. They could look forward to facing another storm as bad or worse as what they had endured before. Jack felt a weary resignation come upon him. It was the morning, he had only been up for four hours and he was tired. He called Killick to make two fresh pots coffee and pass the word for the Doctor; he would steal a few minutes for some leisure with Stephen before the ceaseless toil for self-preservation took over completely. “Am I truly getting old?” He thought, very briefly and then dismissed the idea. He remembered as a boy the massive thrill he experienced knowing that it was coming onto blow; it was, apart from battle, the most alive he ever felt. Now the thought of it made a deep weariness settle into him. He drank a full cup of coffee and felt significantly revived.  
  
“Ah, Stephen, there you are, “ He said as Stephen came in the great cabin, closing the door behind him. “I am afraid it is going to come on to blow yet again.” Stephen sat down and took the coffee that Jack had poured him.  
  
“So soon? How long shall it be before it strikes?”  
  
“Oh, I should say within the next day or two or so. I wish we were not so close to Madagascar.” Stephen looked stricken. “We are not so very close, old Stephen, one significant tack and we shall get plenty of sea room.”  
  
“We shall not stop in Madagascar, then?” Stephen said, trying to hide his bitter disappointment from his voice.  
  
“I very much doubt it. I regret it extremely, brother. It is not my doing -- we must be well clear and then the hurricano may blow us another two thousand miles away. I am certain that we may stop on the way home. Stephen, does this vex you?” Jack said, looking at his fallen face.  
  
“No, soul, no, not at all.” Stephen said, but his countenance gave lie to his words.  
  
“You are cruelly disappointed.” Jack said. “I am so very sorry, Stephen.”  
  
“Am I so transparent? So much like Leander separated from Hero?” Jack looked blank. Stephen put his cup down and sat up, saying:  
  
  
 _"...Ter mihi deposita est in sicca vestis harena;_  
 _ter grave temptavi carpere nudus iter:_  
 _obstitit inceptis tumidum iuvenalibus aequor_  
 _mersit et adversis ora natantis aquis._  
 _at tu, de rapidis inmansuetissime ventis,_  
 _quid mecum certa proelia mente geris?_ "  
Jack looked at him questioningly.

“A rough translation, Jack,” Stephen said, frowning in concentration:

Thrice I left my clothes on dry sands;

thrice, naked, painfully, I tried to swim the roads;

the swollen sea opposed my undertaking and,

swimming against the waves, my head submerged.

Wildest of the swift winds, why do you wage war against me?

 

 

Jack considered of it. “The poor cove met his lee shore? But is he not already on the beach?”

“Ovid, Jack; he cannot swim to his lover, Hero; he is not in a ship, he is swimming -- he must swim.” Jack blanched.

“Truly, a hero? He is swimming to his lover, a hero?”

“Not a “hero,” soul, Hero, a woman, a priestess of Aphrodite and he must swim the Hellespont to the European side to Hero’s tower for their tryst but he cannot because of the storms.” Jack’s face brightened with recognition.

“Ah, as Lord Byron did. Oh, Hellespont, the Dardanelles - blessed tricky navigation what with the winds, surface current, undercurrent -- why, there you have me. He must die in the end, aye? Not Byron, but the fellow in the poem?”  
  
“Sure he does. And thus I am Leander and Madagascar is my Sestos and the lemurs my Hero, kept from me by the tempest.” Jack poured each of them another cup of coffee.

“Ah, just so. Well spoke, Doctor, well spoke, indeed. Do you still wish to swim the Hellespont, Stephen? I remember you telling me that years ago, indeed, it seems a lifetime ago."

“I still think of poor Mr. Hairabedian all those years ago and I confess, my desire is far less than it once was.”

“But that was the Suez, Stephen, not the Dardanelles.The Dardanelles have those transverse headed sharks, not maneaters. ” Stephen said nothing. “You have not yet unpacked your specimens again, have you?”

“I? No, there has not been a moment to spare. At least my loblolly boy, Owens, has come back to me with the understanding that he should not be concerned whatever in the attending of poor Mr. Jennings. I suppose his last experience in the tops during the hurricano made the sick berth seem more appealing. I still have six in my sick berth. We have lost no one, God be praised.”

“Might you advise Mr. Adam to come up on deck now and take some air, whilst he may? Poor fellow, I thought he looked quite wan yesterday at dinner.”

“I shall, poor soul. He is no sailor.” Stephen said, thinking how well Jennings had come through it all sedated with laudanum and wishing he might do the same for Mr. Adam, though he could not sedate the poor man into insensibility, which was what would be necessary to make him oblivious to the ship being tossed around.

 

 _Surprise's_ people were sent scrambling to be fed a hot meal before the work would have to start all over again, the provisions to be made as quickly as possible. The _Surprises_ knew it was necessary, they knew their skipper was entirely in the right of it. But they were still tired and had little adrenaline left to muster as of yet and some whispering started as to how they could have the bad luck of two hurricanos so close to each other. A hurricano out well west of the Cape, why that was nigh unknown. It was as though a dark cloud had come over the barky herself, that they were cursed and the source of their curse was lying in a hammock on the orlop. Dr. Maturin had not incurred that curse upon himself but upon the entire ship with his kindness. One did not mess about with curses, for many strange happenings were associated with them. There was your ordinary, run of the mill bad luck; anyone or anything could have that. But for freakish bad luck, well, that was the working of a curse or a Jonah or both.

 

Killick, who wholeheartedly believed that Jennings was a Jonah, nevertheless begged to differ. Unusual, yes, but "unknown" was coming it a bit too high. Talking of storms so -- were they man-of-wars men or just a bunch of grass combing buggers? There were good years and bad years as far as the hurricano season went, any ship's boy knew that as soon as he was big enough to trundle powder and this was one of those bad years and that had nothing to do with luck or Jonahs. That was just the way of it. The skipper had seen as bad a hurricano back in the year five on _Boadicea_ and they had come out of it fit as his fiddle. Killick could name them every storm he had seen with the Admiral in the last twenty years and there was no one more equipped to deal with the situation than Jack Aubrey. Why, the storm they had seen in the Pacific back in the year thirteen had made what they had just gone through look like a spring shower. It had destroyed a heavy American frigate, the _Norfolk_ , that they had been pursuing endlessly through the Pacific and _Surprise_ had weathered it then as she weathered it now, the situation only worse then because of the Doctor falling into the gangway, like to kill him. Was the Admiral not Lucky Jack? Could anyone be so simple as believe they had spent hours a day running the guns out, stretching out in the cutters and practising boarding whilst the Doctor covered himself in bloody bird filth for no reason? For the sake of amusement when it was costing one hundred pounds per broadside for the powder? All the misery they were going through now foretold something good was about to happen, just like having a seagull mark your head. Killick could feel that luck calling them in the crack where his elbow had been broken back in 1815, which was never wrong, God help us. Good luck would be finding them before they got to Calcutta or he warn't Preserved Killick.


End file.
